


The Title Of Healer

by seraf



Category: Dominion (TV)
Genre: Angst, Forehead Kisses, Gen, Healer Raphael, Insecure Raphael, Sibling Bonding, This was originally tagged fluff but it has come to my attention, We don't really see either of them so I kind of ran with it, ish?, it's kind of fluff, kind of raphael/lucifer, more appropriate, pre first war, sibling angst, that this is not fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 19:40:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5261105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraf/pseuds/seraf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Raphael is God-Who-Heals, and she feels, still, that she does not deserve that title, when Lucifer is the one who can create, and remake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Title Of Healer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [with_the_monsters](https://archiveofourown.org/users/with_the_monsters/gifts).



> Ayy! So you did ask for Raphael/anybody and Lucifer/anybody, and I thought that this would be an interesting concept to explore, since we don't know too much about either of them, and I thought it might be a cool dynamic to write about, with Lucifer being the one who can heal, and Raphael - who we hear about being able to tell the future? - Raphael's name translates to God-Who-Heals, so I thought it would be cool to write about that. I hope you like it!

Healer.

That was her title, given to her by Father as early as she knew, as sure as she knew that Uriel was her twin’s name. _God-who-heals_.

And she never understood it, not really. She was not the one with the power to bring people back from the brink of death, or the one who appeared to do no more than look at a wound before it was healed. Her wings, her feathers, had the ability to heal as much as any other’s in the Host, but no more or less so by a significant amount.

Lucifer didn’t help. He often deemed himself _above_ helping the younger angels with their scrapes and cuts, unless it benefitted him, so the position, as well as title, of healer, fell to Raphael. She couldn’t remake as he could, she had no ability to _create_ , and her hands collected layers of blood and ash even before she and her siblings went to war against their eldest brother.

Speaking of which.

They stood juxtaposed now, the healer-who-would-not-heal and the Healer-with-no-healing-gifts, watching the stars turn restlessly as they sat on their Father’s Earth, and Raphael’s mouth burned with the promise of the fight, knew that tomorrow, Gabriel would have to break Lucifer’s trust in him, knew that her work would become much more soon.

(She had set as much as she could aside - bandages with starlight trapped in their threads, oil that had proven to work to heal wings when they were cut to the bone, small pots of ash from her feathers, her wings looking conspicuously bare now.)

“You should have been given my name.” It’s spoken quietly to Lucifer, Raphael’s arms crossed over her chest as she keeps her eyes trained up on the heavens, naming the constellations quietly as a way of keeping her mind steady, from bursting out in apology even now.

(She was beginning to understand, now, why she was called Healer. The replacement for Lucifer, when her siblings worked to kill him. She didn’t want - she didn’t think that she could replace that, the brother they all looked up to. When Michael’s finger had been removed in an sparring accident, Lucifer had mended it entirely, creating flesh anew. The best she could have hoped to do in that situation was make sure it went uninfected, and the skin healed over.)

(She knew, too, in the flashes that Father left in her head, the prophecies that were left there, that he would not die. That they would not succeed.)

(Lucifer mockingly called her Cassandra, after the prophet that would or may be in the future of humans, in that city called Troy - like that human, her siblings took to not believing her prophecies, even when she had confided to them, in a worried voice, that she could not see Lucifer’s death.)

Cassandra or no, Lucifer smiled at her, something _old_ , curling around the corners of his face quietly. “I think not, Raphael. You are better suited to the title of _Healer_ than I am. Perhaps the best of us for it.”

She could not tell if he was being mocking or sincere in that, or if he, like her twin, meant to manipulate. (Uriel preferred neutrality in a way different to her - she remained out of the fight, whereas Uriel did her best to play all the sides against the middle as long as she could.)

She played with her hands spread in front of herself, tugging the cuticles apart as she picked at the skin surrounding them, watching beads of blood appear with a glazed disinterest in her eyes. “I do not think I am ready, if any of them - if any of us - get seriously injured. I cannot create like you. I am not -”

Raphael was aware of her hand being pulled away, Lucifer examining it coldly, before the skin was healed over, and she sighed as she flexed her fingers, the sudden lack of pain just another reminder of her own lack of power.

“You worry too much, sister.” It’s said offhand and flippantly, and it makes Raphael want to scream at her brother. _Easy for you to say. When you cannot see the pains of our siblings in the future, when you can mend torn flesh with no more than a look, a glance. I worry because I must, because everyone else in our family is too headstrong to do the same._

Instead, she nods quietly and chokes down her rage, and the visions of his body floating out to sea.

_Cassandra._

He would not listen to her anyway.

Her fingers close together, folding in the dignified way of queens, her shoulders closing off to her older brother, and sagging almost imperceptibly.

“Thank you for coming here to talk to me, Lucifer. You have - helped ease my fears some.”

(He did not, but it is the most she can offer to him, a silent apology that she will not take his side in the fight, that she cannot prevent the fate she sees for him, laid out in complicated patterns of thread and ink in the cracked starlight of her head. That she is taking a position from him that she perhaps should not be.)

Lucifer smiles, long and wry, as if he can see the thoughts floating through her head like fog on a dead day, and leans over, pressing a contradictingly gentle kiss in the middle of her forehead, and making her blink in surprise, mouth dropping open a little bit. It has been some time since any of them had been gentle with each other.

(They loved and they fought, but it had become rough, over time, scarred and bitter and tinged with accusation.)

She brushed dark hair out of her face, and levelled her chin, feeling her heart steady as she looked at Lucifer. Things were starting to fall into place, and whether or not she could see them, she needed to accept how little or much she would be able to change them.

“Thank you, Lucifer.”

This time, it was her turn to let a dry smile twitch at the corners of her mouth, her eyes already beginning to focus on something far off - in the distance or the future, it was hard to tell with her.

“For the advice, and for your title.”

**  
  
**


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